


Nine Car Train Toward Richmond Station

by honeypothux



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Depression, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 11:30:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10853088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeypothux/pseuds/honeypothux
Summary: Hux loses his wallets on the tracks of the local railway. A tall, dark-haired stranger brings it back. Hux can't help but see something familiar in him.





	Nine Car Train Toward Richmond Station

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Поезд на Ричмонд](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11615223) by [fandom_Kylux_2017 (fandom_Kylux_2016)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandom_Kylux_2016/pseuds/fandom_Kylux_2017), [Protego_Maxima](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Protego_Maxima/pseuds/Protego_Maxima)



> A bit of an atypical fill for the Kylux Cantina prompt, ["Hux loses his wallet. A tall, dark-haired stranger brings it back."](http://kyluxhardkinks.tumblr.com/post/150222438825/brutal-gangbang-starring-twink-hux-and-twink-kylos).
> 
> Please mind the tags.

Steam rose off Hux’s coffee, thin vapor lines trembling in the office air. Distantly, he could hear a thousand voices, clipped and muffled, clamoring for his attention. They scratched against his ears, so far away, like the music in a café that nobody cares to hear. **  
**

Death, he thought, would be better than this.

The door clicked closed and he looked up. Before him lay the crisp, grey expanse of his office and a profound silence. Mitaka stood by the entrance, narrow shoulders held too tight and clothed with the same black suit that every man in town wore. He was clutching that damn planner of his, fingers curled around the edge hard enough to paint his knuckles white.

“Sir,” Mitaka said, the damn coward. “There is someone here to see you.”

“Someone,” Hux spat, scraping the bitter word of his tongue. He rose, bones creaking under the weight of long delayed motion, and turned away. He found his own face reflected against the clouds, the city groaning along beneath him. “When have I ever cared for _someone_ , Dopheld? I need names, upfront."

A moment of silence and then, desperately, “He didn’t say, sir.”

A commuter train cut across the horizon and Hux put his hands in his pockets, watching as it carried along. After six months of construction, the city had finally repaired their lines. Fastest in the state, they said. Never a minute behind and so much safer than they’d been before.

“He didn’t say,” Hux said, turning back to the embodied anxiety trembling all over his imported Persian rug. He lifted his coffee from the table and took a sip, speaking before he tipped the mug back. “So you’ll just let anyone in here, then?”

“He has your wallet, sir.”

Hux stopped mid gulp. The fluid overfilled his mouth, acidic taste burning at the back of his throat. He hunched his back and sealed his lips, a hurried effort to stop himself from spilling. As the coffee went down his throat, his hand moved over his heart, feeling the pocket where his wallet should have rested. Finding nothing but the hard press of his own body, Hux clenched his eyes shut.

The distant clamor returned, accompanied by a hissing screech like a knife across glass. Hux sucked in a weak breath.

“Let him in.”  
  


 

The man that entered his office was a disjointed mess. His dark hair and hulking stature clashed more with his bright orange subway worker vest more than the same vest clashed with the clinical decor of the Order’s offices. No piece of his face that seemed comfortable beside the next, each desperate to declare itself most important and tear away from its neighbors. He was a distracting constellation of greedy features and Hux would have called him ugly if it weren’t for the way looking at him tore through his heart.

The man held up Hux’s wallet, probably more expensive than anything he’d ever owned in his life,  and smiled. Hux stuck on that grin. It was like fun house glass, reflecting something he’d seen so many times before. Full, pink lips and too sharp canines. Suddenly, it was impossible to breath.

“You know, I see this building on my way home from work all the time but I’ve never been inside,” The man said, tossing the wallet down on the table. It hit the wood with a small pat and the man tucked his hands in his front pockets, approaching the windows to admire the view. His work boots squeaked against the hardwood, though he hardly seemed to mind. “You can almost see the beach from here.”

The chatter in Hux’s ears grew louder as he watched the man, heart rate picking up as the screech returned. It cut into his mind, fingers curling to fists as the man leaned closer to the glass. Even here, Hux could hear it. _Two minutes, nine car train toward Richmond Station. Daniel, you’re going to miss your ride. Hey, did you hear about the thing with the White House press secretary? God, I am so excited for- what is that man doing? Hey! Hey wait! Stop!_

_Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop._

_Approaching, nine car train toward Richmond Station._

Hux slapped his hand down over his wallet, the crack of his skin against the desk making the man jump. He folded his fingers under the wallet, lifting it up and tucking it back into his jacket pocket. “Yes, well, thank you,” he said through clenched teeth. Hux rounded his desk and gestured toward the door, eyes downcast, seeking anything but that dreaded face. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have work to do.”

The man didn’t move, his work boots silent on the floor. Hux pursed his lips, sealing his eyes. “It’s all in there,” The man said. “You can check. I didn’t take anything.”

“I know you didn’t,” Hux said, though he hadn’t known. Hadn’t cared. “But you need to leave, regardless.”

The squeaking came, stopping just a few feet in front of him. If he opened his eyes, Hux knew he’d wind up stuck. He’d catch himself staring into brown eyes and his breath would vanish from his lungs. He’d stare and stare and stare and be left to suffocate forever.

If he opened his eyes, he would be confronted with a  million “What ifs?” and the answer to each one would be a heartbreaking, “Impossible.”

“I found your wallet on the tracks.” The man’s words curled against his ears, too soft for their short acquaintance. The air between them grew heavy, formalities lost on their first meeting.

Hux pried his eyes open, faced his demon, dared him to go on. The slight lift of his chin when faced with a man just taller than himself stirred frustration and, deeper, anguish. The man’s face was blank now, smile tossed away. Still, his hands rested in his front pockets and, if not for the distracting orange vest, Hux could have lost himself in those brown eyes.

“And, you know, I don’t mean to be rude or anything,” he continued, brows sagging. The man took two steps forward, still five feet off but suffocating, strangling nonetheless. “But I don’t know many guys with two black credit cards that ride the subway on the regular.”

The memory of the screech struck Hux’s mind again, an ear bursting sound that shouldn’t be possible. There shouldn’t be a way for something to stop so fast, not when it's barreling forward at such speeds. How is something supposed to end, just like that? To slow, when it was going forward so well?

“Were you down on the rails?”

There, on the man’s face, was the most deplorable creature. Pity reared it’s ugly head, casting a long shadow across the room. The man joined the awful chorus of whispers. _Get off the tracks. Stop the train. Someone, please, God, help him._

Well, he didn’t want their fucking help.

The man lowered his voice to a gentle whisper. “Listen, I know we just met, but if you ever feel like you need to talk to someone--”

Hux’s hand shot out like a viper, catching the man by his awful vest. Pulling forward, he bared his teeth and fought down his strange sense of vertigo. He would not tolerate this. He would not stand here and allow an impossibility, a mirage, to mock him. “Leave,” he demanded, and there was no compromise with his tone. “Leave before I throw you out the fucking window myself.”

The man only parted his lips to speak before Hux tore away from him, turning to face the wall, hiding away. A few seconds later, there was a scoff, squeaking boots, and a heavy thud as the door slammed closed.

One, two, three, four. Every rotation of inhalation and exhalation stung, tears springing to his eyes. It hadn’t been real, he told himself. That man was nothing, a mere figment of a mind worn too thin. He curled in on himself and brought himself toward the door, hands running over the surface as he sunk to his knees.

There, through the wood, he heard more voices, just as clipped, just as muffled.

“Your boss is a real piece of work, you know.”

“Pardon me?”

“He just threatened to throw me out a window. Didn’t even spare me a thank you for coming all this way.”

A pause, like realization, and then, “Please excuse him. I think I know what happened.”

Hux pressed his forehead to the closed door, burying his nails in his palms. As if Mitaka could possibly understand. Hux had been only moments from respite, just one train away from well deserved rest. Instead, here he was, faced with mocking phantoms and forced to live with a hole in his chest. He choked, shaking his head against the wood. It wasn’t fair.

“You resemble his fiance a little bit.”

“I see...did they separate?”

Hux laughed and his eyes against his sleeve.

“I’m afraid he passed away.”

It was the gentle way to put it, casting a white sheet over the mangled remains. Ninety-eight people, nine car pile up down on the Richmond line. Hux brought his hand to his face, pressed his fingertips to his temple, and tried to forget what he’d been shown down at the coroner's office.

In the end, perhaps this stranger hadn’t looked so much like Kylo after all.

**Author's Note:**

> The second I read this prompt, I could not get over it.
> 
> "A tall, dark-haired stranger" is a phrase meant to evoke and imply the image of Kylo Ren, but one which does not necessarily mean Kylo Ren is present. I thought it was pretty interesting that, for a Kylux-based prompt fill thing, the anon chose to use this language instead of just naming Kylo directly. Even though I'm pretty sure this isn't what they were looking for, I wanted to capture the eery feeling I got reading that line and, so, here we are.


End file.
